


Backspace

by blue_sweater



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt, I am one to wax lyrical, I love Bucky so much, Love, Self-Esteem Issues, emotional insecurity, just FYI, no real trigger warnings other than triggering itself, no specific triggers mentioned, not even sorry, scaredy cat Bucky, supportive girlfriend Darcy Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_sweater/pseuds/blue_sweater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s intoxicated by her. She put herself into his hands. She doesn’t treat him like a live wire and doesn’t try to unarm the bomb that is his mind...</p><p>The story of how James Buchanan Barnes fell in love with Darcy Lewis, almost completely by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backspace

**Author's Note:**

> I am in an I-Love-Bucky forever sort of mood so have a happy ending. It's kinda sad in places but I love him so much and I don't wanna hurt him.  
> The song and lyrics are taken from Regina Spektor's song 'Eet' which is about going back and trying again, which I think Bucky does a lot. Listen to it, even if you don't listen while reading. It's a super fantastic song.

_It's like forgetting the words to your favourite song  
You can't believe it; you were always singing along_

* * *

 

When he falls into bed with her it’s not like he remembers. Not like with the others. The others are distant, which is remarkable. How can somebody be far away when you’re buried inside of them? How can somebody be so naked and exposed, and still be shielded? Maybe it’s his fault, because of who he is, because of the way he moves and the way he stares. Maybe he’s a surrogate, just somebody to fill a gap. He stops caring after a while, because even the distant-empty-sex is better than not being seen at all.

It’s different with her. She smiles at him, stares back into his eyes when most others would look away. She doesn’t pretend with anything – she tells him he’s terrifying, tells him he’s beautiful, tells him that she hasn’t showered since yesterday and hopes he won’t mind. When she's naked, she is completely exposed. She is transparent. She is with him and she is letting him see her, see inside her, see who she really is. She doesn't hide from him.

She tells him what she likes and what she doesn't, asks him to do the same. He isn’t very good with words. When she asks what he likes, he simply replies, “I like you.”

“What about me?”

“Everything about you.”

She smiles and drags him closer for a kiss, and doesn't ask him to elaborate.

Their first night together had been such a strange experience. They had met a while before, and she asked him to a charity ball. Said that he scrubbed up alright in a tuxedo and that she wouldn’t mind having a date as good-looking as him, but only if he did his hair properly. He had been taken aback, given a blunt affirmative answer and they had gone to the ball together, arm in arm, and she was so beautiful. He didn't feel like he was allowed to stand beside her. He wanted to crawl away and apologise for being so stupid to think he could ever be good enough for her. But she held him tightly and smiled at him and told him she was so happy he had decided to come. He gave her a small smile in reply and said that she looked pretty.

They had fallen into bed together after a night of dancing and drinking, and she had kissed him on his eyelids and his pulse and his scars and his fingertips. Traces the lines of his metal plates and warms the coldest parts of him. She holds him like a person, not like he’s made of glass, and she gasps his name every time he touched her. He’s intoxicated by her. She put herself into his hands. She doesn’t treat him like a live wire and doesn’t try to unarm the bomb that is his mind. She draws him out over time, draws him in, begs him to stay the night. He couldn’t remember the last time somebody asked that. When had anybody ever wanted him in their bed?

He wakes up at three and goes home, and she tells him off the next time they meet. Tells him that she’s not some girl he can just use and lose, thank you very much. The Captain has told her about all his friend’s old ways and she isn’t going to take any of that. If she asks him over, he stays over. Even if he does wake up early, he stays. He has a coffee, watches TV. Waits at least until she’s awake to kiss her goodbye.

He agrees, and apologises. “I didn’t know what to do.”

She smiles. “That’s alright. I’ll teach you.”

He learns so much more about her. Learns the food that she wants depending on what particular mood she’s in, down to the variety of tea based on time of day and workload. He knows what her favourite albums and movies are, when she forces him to watch and listen to every single one of them. He knows how to make her laugh, how to make her blush, how to make her scream and cry his name as he brings her to the edge over and over again. Learns how to touch her and where to kiss her, learns the taste and smell of her and experiences withdrawal when she goes away on the weekend to visit her father.

But she always comes back to him, and she always throws herself into his arms like he’s not a killing machine.

She actually enjoys spending time with him. She teases him, and learns about him. Learns what words and phrases and pictures give him flashbacks, learns how to soothe him when he has nightmares. Learns where she can and can’t touch. Learns that it’s not always easy and sometimes he will get angry for no reason, and she learns that he will more often than not come crawling back to her and hold her close and apologise for days for every tiny slip up. Because he’s so afraid one day she will leave and not come back, that she will find someone far more worthy of her time and energy. Somebody who can love her as much as she deserves. She deserves more than a broken man, a failing man.

She tells him it’s okay that he’s broken. Broken people are real. Broken people are better at being people, she says. She tells him it’s okay that sometimes he forgets her face when he’s by himself, that he needs to see her at a moment’s notice. Because that’s what she’s here for, and she doesn’t mind. It’s worth it.

Worth it. He’s _worth it_. Worth the restless nights, the broken bottles, the relapses, the days without talking and then days where he won’t leave her be. Worth the mountains of pills he takes every day.

He spends a long time telling himself it’s not permanent, that he will not force her to put up with him for any longer. Tells himself one day he will walk away from her, let her get on with her own life. And one day, he does. She has a work function and he stays home and begins to pack his things. He hasn’t got much, and he’s almost about to leave when she gets home.

“I got bored, the champagne ran out and I – what are you doing?”

He stares at the bags by his feet. “I – I don’t know.”

“Were you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I love you,” he says, not knowing that he’s said it until it’s left his mouth and it’s out in the airwaves. He only knows it when it reaches his ears again and suddenly he realises why she’s stayed with him the whole time. Not because she likes broken things. She stayed because she believes in him. Wants to be with him. Knows that he makes her a better person in a weird roundabout way. He’s not her charity case. He’s her lover, her friend, her forever. And he knows because he’s suddenly overcome with this own belief in her. She didn’t ever think for a second he would run away. Her faith in him was stronger than anything he had ever known, stronger than his own metal, his own flesh. If she had wanted him gone, she would have said so. The look on her face of surprise and sadness at the mere thought of him being away from her sends him spiralling back down to the ground and he knows now more than ever that this is where he needs to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping forward to take her into his arms. “I didn’t – I didn’t know what I was thinking. I promise I won’t go. I didn’t realise until now – until right now – I’m so sorry, I’m sorry –”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’re still here. And you’re not going anywhere.”

And after that night, it becomes a lot easier for him to let her love him. He forgets what it was that made him so uncertain, forgets that he’s broken. He doesn’t have to pretend to be something he’s not. Because she has seen every surface of his multi-faceted, rough-diamond, broken and battered soul, and she still wants to be with him. Wants to be in his arms, even when one of them isn’t even his. Wants to be inside his heart when he wasn’t even sure he had one.

He gives in, and falls into her, and forgets that he was ever afraid in the first place.

* * *

 

_It was so easy and the words so sweet  
You can't remember; you try to feel the beat_

**Author's Note:**

> holla at me on tumblr [blue--sweater](http://blue--sweater.tumblr.com)


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